


Riding Lessons

by Sunshineandmoonlight9



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Horseback Riding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Renfri | Shrike (The Witcher), Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineandmoonlight9/pseuds/Sunshineandmoonlight9
Summary: Geralt teaches Jaskier how to ride Roach. Everything goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt decides to make camp at sunset and Jaskier agrees. The glade they're in is surrounded by lush undergrowth and ivy-covered trees. The sun filters through the leaves, casting everything in green-gold light. A stream flows nearby, dotted by mossy rocks.

Once Roach is untacked, Geralt sits on the grass. He grinds herbs with his pestle and mortar. 

Jaskier flops on the ground nearby, pale cheeks pink from exertion. He has shrugged off his doublet, the sleeves of his shirt rolled casually to his elbows. "Phew! What a long day. So much...walking." 

"Hmm." Geralt doesn't look up from the herbs. This glade is too exposed for Geralt's liking, but he chose it after Jaskier's complaints about being unable to see the stars. Now Jaskier has found something else to complain about.

"It's alright for you, of course. You're riding most of the time." Jaskier's head jerks up. "Maybe I could ride Roach occasionally." 

Geralt's hands go still. For a moment, the only sound is the gentle rush of water. He's never let anyone else ride Roach. But Jaskier's the exception to a lot of things. "Can you even ride?" 

"Well, no. But you can teach me, and anyway, it seems like the horse does most of the work. You just sit there." 

Oh, really? Stifling a smirk, Geralt turns his head to look at Roach. She grazes peacefully. It's actually not a bad idea, but it won't be easy. He sighs and nods. "Just the basics."

Jaskier grins. 

After supper, Geralt tacks up Roach and holds the reins to keep her still. "Get on."

"Gladly." Jaskier puts his foot in a stirrup, grabs the saddle horn, and pulls himself up on Roach's back. He glances down and his triumphant smile fades. "Ooh. It's a bit high." 

"Then don't fall. Grab the reins." 

Jaskier obeys. But his posture is too tense, his shoulders rigid, and he keeps looking down at Roach's head. 

Geralt sighs. "Relax. Shoulders down, eyes up. Focus on where you're going."

Jaskier's fingers tightens on the reins as he adjusts his shoulders. "What if Roach runs?" 

Roach tosses her head, impatient to get moving. Geralt rubs her neck soothingly. "She won't. I've got her, Jaskier."

Jaskier's legs squeeze Roach and she walks forward. Geralt follows, murmuring encouragement to her. "That's good. Be nice." 

Jaskier scowls. "I'm being nice! How indecorous of you, Geralt." 

"I was talking to Roach."

"...Oh." Something has shifted in Jaskier's voice. It's quieter, as if he didn't intend to be heard. 

Then Roach stops. She dips her head and noses one of the blue wildflowers that fleck the glade. Jaskier laughs and Geralt lets himself smile. Since most of Jaskier's tension is gone, he lets Jaskier walk Roach in slow circles before they retire for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt smells the sharp, sour scent of unfamiliar humans. 

His eyes snap open. He and Jaskier lie on their blankets in the glade, Roach tied to a nearby tree. The quiet night seems undisturbed. But Roach is alert, too, her head high and ears pricked. 

The scent is strong, so the humans must be close. He can smell the steel of their weapons. Geralt nudges Jaskier awake. He presses a hand over Jaskier's mouth for silence. "People are coming," he hisses. "Armed." 

Jaskier's eyes widen. Trusting Jaskier to be quiet, Geralt removes his hand. "Take Roach and go to Temeria."

Jaskier stares at him, eyes only a muted gleam in the darkness. "Without you?" 

What has he done to earn Jaskier's loyalty? Geralt stands and unsheathes his sword. "I'll distract them."

"Wait, wait." Jaskier stands too and grips Geralt's arm. "I've got an idea. I can be your hostage and maybe they'll leave us alone." 

Geralt pauses, considering. They'll expect a Witcher to turn on his traveling companion. It can resolve the situation without violence. But Jaskier might be put at risk. Geralt grits his teeth. "Fine." 

Leaves rustle. A twig snaps. 

Three humans emerge from the forest and enter the glade, tinged silver in the moonlight. "Mutant freak," one of them snarls, drawing her sword. The others draw swords too.

Out of time. Geralt slips behind Jaskier and lifts his sword to Jaskier's throat. "Stay back or he dies."

As the humans advance without concern, she sneers. "Why? You scared of us, Butcher?"

Jaskier stiffens. Geralt growls through bared teeth and shoves Jaskier to safety. He's not losing anyone else the way he lost Renfri. 

The human rushes forward. Her sword swings at Geralt's head. He spins under her blade and slashes her exposed ribs. She collapses.

"Look out!" Jaskier yells. 

A sword slices across Geralt's shoulder from behind. He whips around and plunges his sword into the second human's chest. Warm blood sprays his hands. 

The third human darts forward. She slashes another wound on Geralt's side before he can free his sword. Snarling, he yanks his sword free. Their blades clang together and he disarms her in a heartbeat. 

Her wild eyes stare at him. The wave of Renfri's memory is too much. He lowers his sword. "Run." She obeys without hesitation.

Panting, Geralt lets his sword drop to the ground. Pain blazes from his wounds, blood seeping down his back. He staggers toward Jaskier and somehow ends up on his knees. 

Fuck.

"Geralt? Geralt--"


	3. Chapter 3

Roach's mane whips Jaskier's face as she gallops. He steers her through Temeria until he arrives at a herbalist's shop. Once she's in the stable, he swings his leg over her back and slides to the ground. 

When he enters the shop, the fragrance of herbs hits him. The shelves are lined with vials of oil and glass jars of leaves, flowers, and roots. Bandages, pestles, and bowls lie scattered on an oak table. A cheery fire blazes in the hearth. 

A dark-haired woman in a scarlet gown approaches him. Freckles sprinkle the warm brown skin of her face. Beautiful. "Are you the bard who's been asking for a healer?" 

"My friend... he needs help. But everyone stops listening as soon as I say 'Witcher.'" Jaskier's voice rises, his heart pounding. "He's Geralt of Rivia! A good man!" 

The woman's eyes widen. "Where is he? Imagine it in your mind, as clear an image as you can." 

What? Jaskier splutters in frustration, but her pleading expression halts his protest. He tries to imagine the glade. Geralt lying unconscious. Geralt's blood staining the grass. 

"Good. Clear the table. I'll be back with him." She waves her hand to the side. The air next to her twists into a portal as if it's made of a shimmering, translucent fabric. She runs through the portal and vanishes. 

Jaskier flinches. He's alone now. But she'll be back. She said so. And everything will be fine. Even if their last encounter with a witch ended with a collapsed building and (inexplicably) Geralt having sex. 

He's just finished clearing the table when the woman stumbles back through the portal, Geralt's arm draped over her shoulders. "What happened?" 

Instinctively Jaskier pulls Geralt's other arm over his shoulders, offering some support. "We were just sleeping after a long day on the road. People attacked us." 

"'On the road?' So you're Jaskier?"

"Yeah. What's your name?" 

"Triss." 

"Nice to meet you, Triss." Together they haul Geralt onto the table, laying him on his stomach. 

After carefully cutting off Geralt's shirt with a knife, Triss fetches supplies from a shelf. She crumples herbs into a clay bowl of water, pours in oils, and soaks a cloth in the mixture. Then she begins to gently wash Geralt's wounds. 

Geralt groans and flinches away. Jaskier takes Geralt's hand, ignoring that it's slick with blood. "Hey. It's alright. I'm here." 

Geralt's eyelashes stir, and he relaxes slightly. "Renfri..." he breathes. 

"What?" Jaskier frowns, his grip tightening.

Triss meets his eyes. "He did this last time, too."

Jaskier blinks. "'Last time?'"

Nodding, Triss continues to clean the wound on Geralt's shoulder. "When I first met him. He kept saying her name while delirious. I asked him about her when he awoke, but he didn't answer." 

"Huh." Jaskier's gaze drifts back to the table. He knows to avoid certain conversation topics with Geralt, like family and Blaviken. But someone called Renfri is a new one for him. 

Geralt's bare back gleams with sweat in the firelight. Teeth clenched, he groans as Triss bandages his wounds. Jaskier keeps holding his hand and even strokes his hair until Triss is finally finished. After that, Geralt's quiet except for his steady breathing. 

Exhausted, Jaskier slumps into a chair. "Thank the gods." 

Triss sighs in agreement. "He'll be fine once he's rested. I'll talk to the innkeeper. Let him sleep on something more comfortable than a table." 

Jaskier's heart warms. "Thank you so much. For everything." 

She gives him a smile and walks out of the shop, springy curls dancing over her shoulders. 

Jaskier rests his heavy head on the table. Geralt's warm breath brushes his hair. Soothing. He's just going to close his eyes for a minute.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain. Geralt's temple throbs. He vaguely remembers falling over, so it's likely he hit his head. At least the bed beneath him is soft. 

A fire crackles nearby, radiating heat against his bare skin. Someone has removed his shirt and lain him on his stomach. Where is he?

A metal ladle scrapes inside a pot. Someone else is in the room. 

Geralt's eyes flicker open. He's in a single bedroom. His armor and weapons are in the corner along with Jaskier's lute. A steaming pot hangs by the lit hearth. Jaskier stands beside it, ladling soup into a bowl. 

Geralt sits up with heavy limbs, gritting his teeth against the burning pain in his body. 

Jaskier glances over his shoulder, then does a double take and grins. "Geralt! Quick recap. I brought you to a lovely witch. She fixed you up and paid the innkeeper to give us this room. She sends her regards, by the way. Triss Merigold." 

Tension seeps out of Geralt in a huff of breath. Jaskier is safe and Triss was here. Triss, who gave him back Renfri's brooch. "She saved me again." 

"Don't worry, I compensated her generously." Jaskier crosses the room and offers out the bowl of soup.

Geralt accepts it. Tender chunks of meat float in the bowl, the broth flecked with herbs. He takes a spoonful and swallows, the soup warming his throat. 

Jaskier sits on the bed as well and drags a hand through his disheveled hair, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Where's Roach?"

"What?" Jaskier's eyes open again. "Oh, yeah. In the stable. I rode here to find a healer." 

"Hmm." No wonder Jaskier's hair is a mess. Geralt smiles a little. "Good thinking."

Jaskier's mouth drops open, his eyes twinkling. "Did you just compliment me? You sure you're feeling alright?" 

It's a joke, but Geralt still glances down. Bloodstained bandages hug his torso. "Never better," he mutters dryly, then eats more soup. 

"Really?" Jaskier's voice shifts back to seriousness in an instant. 

Something is definitely off. Geralt sets his soup aside, giving Jaskier his full attention. "What are you really asking about?" 

"While you were unconscious, I heard you say someone's name. Renfri." 

Every muscle in Geralt tightens, his fingers curling into fists. Sweat cools his skin. 

Eyes widening, Jaskier lies down on the bed. "Or I could forget about it. Good night." He turns his back to Geralt as if asleep. 

Mouth dry, Geralt forces himself to move. Lies down on his uninjured side, his body parallel to Jaskier's. The mattress creaks under his movements. "Jaskier." 

Slowly Jaskier rolls over on his other side and meets Geralt's eyes. "What?" 

Geralt rests his cheek on the pillow's rough fabric. The memory of his night with Renfri feels like a dream. Her fingers gliding down his chest, his lips meeting hers. "Renfri was a princess. People hurt her at a young age. She wanted revenge so badly she threatened innocent people, so I killed her. The town of Blaviken saw me standing over her body and drove me out." 

Shadow pools under the delicate curves of Jaskier's cheekbones. It only emphasizes the growing paleness of his face. "You mean...you saved people, but they still chased you out? Why?" 

"Because of this." Geralt reaches for the chain around his neck and tilts the pendant to catch the firelight, its silver warm from his body heat. "All they needed to see was a corpse and a Witcher." 

A muscle pulses in Jaskier's throat as he visibly swallows. "I'm sorry. You deserve better." 

Maybe, maybe not. But there's one truth Geralt knows. His voice is soft. "So did she."

The flames reflect in Jaskier's eyes alongside the wet shine of unshed tears. He cups Geralt's cheek with a gentle hand. 

Geralt traps Jaskier's hand in place with his own. "Don't waste your tears, Jaskier. It's the way of the world." 

"Then the world can fuck off," Jaskier says flatly. His voice breaks at the end, tears beginning their slow paths down his face. 

They stare at each other, heat radiating between them. Slowly Geralt leans forward, giving Jaskier plenty of time to move back. But instead Jaskier closes the distance between them. 

Jaskier's lips part, soft and defenseless. There's the slightest taste of salt from tears. Jaskier's hand slides into Geralt's hair. 

Geralt's fingers explore the silk of Jaskier's doublet, tracing its intricate patterns. He leans closer, but his shoulder twinges sharply with pain and he grunts.

Immediately Jaskier withdraws, eyes wide with apology. "Oh, bloody hell. Did I hurt you?" 

Geralt shakes his head. "It was my fault." 

"You shouldn't push yourself. You're in pain, and probably as tired as I am, and..." Jaskier swipes his cheeks dry. "I'm a mess, obviously." 

"Clearly." 

"Shut up."

They both share a light, breathless chuckle. 

Geralt's knuckles stroke along Jaskier's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere." 


End file.
